Frances felt a warm glow that wasn’t entirely due to the whisky. Of course she couldn’t really go wingeing to Tony about the Shirburns, but how nice of him to go out of his way to be so friendly to her! One might have expected him to be on the other side, after all.
“Terrible luck about their damp proof course,” he was saying, “going wrong just before Christmas. I thought those things lasted for ever.”
“Yes,” said Frances, a little awkwardly in view of Lesley’s hint that the damp might not have been the Shirburns’ only reason for deciding to spend Christmas at Haseley.
“Particularly hard on you, Frances. I expect you were hoping to see your family, weren’t you, instead of being stranded out here in a gloomy old house in the middle of nowhere? I don’t know how long Stephen and Lesley are planning to stay…”
“Oh, it’s only for a few days, I think,” said Frances, realising that they hadn’t said exactly how long. Now Tony pointed it out, she supposed the Shirburns had effectively got her trapped here, with no means of escape, until they decreed that it was time to go home. Thank goodness the Britwell family had decided to join them!
“Just as well we decided to come along and cheer things up.” Tony read her mind. “We love Christmas! All that silly sentimental stuff. Julia decorates a mean Christmas tree. William hasn’t got one, has he? We’ll fetch one in tomorrow. And I have a secret recipe for stuffing…” He touched his nose conspiratorially. “Say no more, except that the bottle of Corvoisier in the cupboard must remain unviolated until the day! It makes the whole difference to Christmas, doesn’t it? - having a house full of people? I bet you and the Shirburns were relieved not to be stuck with just old William for company!”
“Oh yes, I was!” said Frances, not wanting to disclose what Lesley’s reaction had been when she’d heard about all the other visitors.
But Tony must have been too perceptive. He put his head on one side, eyeing her quizzically. “…Were Stephen and Ratso not as pleased as you were, perhaps?”
“Oh no… It’s just - er - I think there was something they wanted to discuss with your father-in-law,” stammered Frances, anxious not to let him think it was anything personal against him and Julia, “and they were rather hoping to talk to him on his own.”
“Oh, I see,” said Tony, making a wry face. “I thought our welcome wasn’t as enthusiastic as it might have been! We obviously interrupted some important tête-à-tête.” He indicated the tea things, which no one had bothered to clear away. “I wonder what it was all about.”
Frances realised that she was able to throw some light on this now. She found the pile of brochures Stephen had hastily gathered together and passed them across to Tony. “I think it was something to do with these.”
“Aha!” He examined the brochures and raised his eyebrows at her. “I scent a plot! What do you say, Nanny Frances?”
Frances grinned back. Somehow it was okay for Tony to call her Nanny.
“They’re retirement homes, aren’t they?” she said. “Mr. Shirburn must be planning to move into one.”
“Or having it planned for him.” The sudden grimness in his tone startled her.
“You mean - he doesn’t want to go?”
“I can’t imagine William agreeing to leave this place of his own free will, can you?”
She remembered Lesley’s pink angry face, William’s scowl. “But why should they try to make him move if he doesn’t want to?”
Tony glanced round meaningfully. “Fine old mansion, this - if you like that sort of thing.”
Frances stared at him aghast. Surely Stephen and Lesley weren’t trying to push William into a home just to get their hands on Haseley House?
“…Fetch a good bit if it were to come on the market - provided it was sold with vacant possession.”
“But they can’t be intending to sell it!” she objected. “Mrs. Shirburn said something to Tobias about living here when he grows up…”
“Did she indeed?” Tony looked at her with narrowed eyes. “On the other hand, it would of course make a very nice country retreat for an Oxford don. How do you fancy it, Frances - Nanny to the Lord of the Manor of Haseley?”
What, live permanently in this sinister old house, with its inexplicable creaks and groans, and all those empty derelict rooms upstairs? There was a weird scratching noise in the wall at the moment that sounded horribly like rats! Frances shuddered, and moved a little closer to Tony.
“No, you’re not part of the plot, are you Frances?” his warm smile returned. “I’m glad. Anyway - what am I thinking of, gossiping to you about your employers like this? Most improper! Let me get you another drink…”
CHAPTER 7
The rest of them hung back as Margery pushed open the front door, mutually conscious of the awkwardness of walking into someone else’s house unannounced.
“The hall’s in a dreadful state,” she observed to Oliver. “You’ll have to ignore all the missing tiles - and that perfectly ghastly wallpaper. I expect your expensive camera’s capable of cutting out that sort of thing, isn’t it?”
The familiar smell of Haseley - mould and polish and old stone. It caught Hilary unawares, sweeping her back in time so vividly that for an instant she assumed it was Ben beside her.
But it was Oliver who met her instinctive glance of affection, saw her drop her eyes immediately and look away embarrassed.
“William must get this place done up,” said Margery decisively. “Then he can sell it for a packet instead of leaving it to that ghastly son of his. …What’s the matter, Leo? Stop wittering!”
“There’s somebody coming,” he moaned.
“Well what if there is? Oh, it’s Julia. Don’t say they’ve all descended on poor old William as well! - William’s daughter,” she explained to Oliver. “Married Tony Britwell - bit of a spiv. Makes a good thing out of other people’s money - you know the type.”
“Aunt Margery - how lovely!” said Julia, who had been well within earshot. “Have you been ringing the bell? William’s put us in the attic and you can’t hear a thing. Hilary, darling!”
Julia’s powerful scent enveloped her as she kissed her on both cheeks. Hilary tried to return the embrace without embarrassment. She was sure Julia genuinely liked her, and had never been able to work out why she didn’t feel the same way.
Margery introduced Oliver, and Hilary saw him visibly recoil as Julia seemed about to kiss him too, but she confined herself to one of her almost sexual handshakes.
“Super to meet you… Oh - Leo!”
“Yes, I don’t know why he came. I didn’t bring him.”
Leo emerged from where he had been trying to efface himself against the coat-stand. “I came down with Hilary, actually…”
“Oh dear!” said Julia, giving Hilary a reproachful look that set her teeth on edge. “Don’t let Daddy see you, for heaven’s sake! We’d better put you in the dining-room. There’s no one in there.”
“This is ridiculous!” protested Leo as Julia hustled him through the door. “I can’t stay in hiding for the whole of Christmas!”
“I’ll get Tony to find you a drink,” she promised him. “He’s gone off somewhere with the nanny…”
“Where’s William?” demanded Margery, ignoring Julia’s attempt to relieve them of their coats. “In the sitting-room? Come on, Oliver. We’ll go and give him a rocket for not answering his bloody front door!”
Hilary followed them, feeling the combination of Margery and William was too much to ask a sensitive man like Oliver to face alone. He was already looking rather stunned by Margery’s uninhibited appraisal of her brother’s house, which she took up again as she threw open the sitting-room door without bothering to knock.
“…This room’s not quite such a slum. Newish carpet and some fairly decent furniture… Ah, Tony! What are you up to in here? Trying your luck with the nanny, apparently.”
Tony had been caught with his arm round an attractive little blonde girl, who leapt up guiltily,
her cheeks flaming.
“Julia’s husband,” Margery explained to Oliver, “ - the one I was telling you about.”
Tony somehow managed to keep his composure. “Hello, Aunt Margery. How splendid to see you. Hello, Cousin Hilary.” There was something caressing about the way Tony said `cousin’ that made Hilary wince slightly, as he took the opportunity to kiss her full on the mouth. He held out his hand to Oliver.
“This is Oliver Leafield,” Margery introduced him. “He’s a friend of Nigel Rofford’s.”
“Oh yes, the, er… architectural historian.” Tony dropped his hand rather suddenly and placed it on the girl’s shoulder instead. “Frances and I were just discussing her unenviable job. She’s young Tobias’s nanny.”
“Ah - the Shirburns’ nanny, are you? That’s right, Tony - no sense in fouling your own nest. That’s a pleasure in store for you, Oliver - my nephew Stephen and his wife. Awful snobs, with a quite horrendous offspring. Only to be expected, I suppose, when you bring a child up as if he was a research project…”
Frances was interested to discover that one couldn’t actually die of embarrassment. She must have run it as close as anyone when that terrifying old lady had come in and got totally the wrong idea about her and Tony. She would have liked to explain that they were only discussing how to protect William - her brother, surely - from a dreadful plot, but Tony had obviously decided it was better not to say anything. Perhaps he didn’t trust this Oliver Leafield, standing there so huge and silent in that great black coat. He had certainly given him a funny look when he found out who he was.
Tony seemed to be fond of his cousin Hilary, though, and she wasn’t at all the sort of languishing person Frances had expected. She had bright, intelligent eyes and a firm mouth and lots of dark curly hair, and when William’s sister started going on about the Shirburns in that horrendously forthright way, she caught Frances’s eye with a really kind smile.
“I expect you’ll be wanting to get Tobias’s tea or something, won’t you Frances?” said Tony.
She knew he was offering her the excuse to escape and seized it gratefully, wishing everyone wouldn’t watch her go as if they were waiting for her to be out of earshot. Oliver held the door open, and Margery followed her with those eagle eyes. “I’ll give that one a week!” she heard her say, before the door was quite closed.
To do William justice, he hadn’t heard the front door bell. He was busy preparing a delicious sandwich of tinned salmon, pickled onions and a few letters of cold alphabet spaghetti. Scratch, who had heard it, took the precaution of sliding under the dresser until he realised William wasn’t going to answer, and he could go back to the juice from the salmon tin undisturbed.
William did hear the banging on the back door, but equated it with the similarly irritating noises someone was making from the direction of the cellar - the inevitable result of having a horde of people in the house.
He looked up unenthusiastically as Julia bounced in, leaving the door ajar.
“There you are, Daddy! What’s that disgusting mess you’re eating?” Julia poked at his sandwich and made a face. “Aunt Margery’s arrived, with the architect guy. Such a shame he’s gay - he’s got a lovely sensitive face! Oh - and Hilary’s here as well.”
William brightened. He liked Hilary. She had pretty hair and twinkly, sensible eyes, and she’d been married to his nephew Ben, of whom he’d been particularly fond. Best of all, she wasn’t always trying to get him to do things like most of his relations.
“Why don’t you put a bit of salad on that,” said Julia. “You really ought to eat more vitamins…”
Scratch, who had finished his meal already, took the opportunity to slip out for further investigation of the rats. The dining-room door was closed, but a moment or two later Frances came into the hall, and a pathetically raised paw easily persuaded her to open it.
Inside - joy of joys! An infrequent visitor to Haseley, but one of his favourite - Leo!
Maybe it was his particular smell, or a kindred feline nature the cat detected, but probably it was because of the way Leo utterly froze whenever he approached him. Scratch could impose his will on most people to a greater or lesser extent, but with no one was his domination so totally, satisfyingly complete as with Leo. He could do whatever he liked: jump up, claw his toes, knead him mercilessly, and still Leo would hold his stiff, stricken pose until rescue came, or the cat condescended to leave his victim voluntarily.
On sighting this appealing visitor, Scratch leaped forward with a cry of delight.
“Aargh!” said Leo.
The sound startled Frances, who’d thought the room was empty. She put her head inside - and froze. That burglar hadn’t escaped after all! He was here in the dining-room! Whatever should she do? The cat was making a valiant attempt to pin him down, but it wouldn’t be able to hold him for long. She would just have to go and fetch Tony, even if it did mean facing those people again.
Hilary pretended to be listening to Margery instructing Oliver about architecture, because otherwise she knew that Tony would collar her and make her look into his eyes and tell him all about her life. She surreptitiously felt the teapot on the table, but it was cold, and she was just wondering whether she could follow the nanny’s example and escape, when the girl herself came bursting back into the room.
“Tony - I’m sorry - but that burglar…he’s still here - in the dining-room…” she gasped.
“A burglar? Nonsense!” retorted Margery. “We’ve never had burglars at Haseley! There’s a fine stucco ceiling in there. You must make a point of seeing it, Oliver.”
“I will. But - er…” He was looking at Hilary, an amused question in his eyes.
Her mouth dropped. Hadn’t Julia put Leo in the dining-room? …And one of the nannies had seen him trying to get through the hall window!
“Don’t worry, Frances!” Tony was squeezing the girl’s arm. “We’ll go and sort him out for you.”
“Please hurry!” she said desperately. “I’ve left the cat holding him down.”
“This I must see,” said Oliver.
Hilary, remembering Leo’s antipathy to cats, let the others go in front of her, then slid past them towards the kitchen. The accusations and explanations were more than she felt she could take without a good strong cup of tea.
A peculiar knocking sound from the cellar reminded her for a moment of that face. She had imagined seeing it, of course - a trick of the dim light, and the knocking could be anything in an old house - death-watch beetle probably. …Like those odd noises she had noticed just now in the sitting-room wall.
The kitchen seemed warm and welcoming. William had the kettle on, and was engaged in some ludicrous argument with Julia about lettuce. It was reassuring to see that, despite his professed horror of eating anything ‘good for him’, he looked just the same as ever. He sat hunched over his meal, addressing imprecations to Julia’s heedless backside as she rummaged in his fridge, apparently searching for ice to put in a gin and tonic. With his bright eyes and rather beaky nose, he reminded Hilary of a grumpy little robin defending its territory. Neither of them noticed Hilary until she laughed.
For an instant William’s face was transformed by a beam of delight.
“I heard you were about the place. So you’ve condescended to come and say hello to me, have you?”
“No,” She kissed his forehead. “I’ve come for a cup of tea. Good God, what are you eating?”
“My supper,” said William, with a belligerent look at Julia.
“What would you do with him, Hilary?” Julia gave up on the ice and came to lean against the kitchen table. “If Daddy’s determined to get an ulcer…”
“I thought it was scurvy you were threatening me with.”
“Posy’s just as bad. Refuses to go near a vegetable! Children seem to exist on crisps and chocolate bars nowadays, don’t they? You can’t ever get them to eat a proper meal.”
Very likely, Hilary thought, if you let your child fill it
self up on junk food. Obviously Julia and Tony still had the laissez-faire attitude to Posy’s upbringing that had made her the pudgy, self-centred little girl Hilary remembered.
“Where are the children?” she said aloud. “I haven’t seen Posy or Tobias yet - or Stephen and Lesley, come to that.”
“Lucky you!” muttered William.
“Oh Daddy! Isn’t he naughty? They’re around somewhere. Posy took Tobias off for a game, and Stephen and Ratso went to look for them - oh, ages ago! Wouldn’t you rather have a decent drink? I was just getting one for…anyone who wants one.” She cast a meaningful glance towards the dining-room that William might easily have seen.
“No - tea!” said Hilary firmly. “Do the bags still live in the toffee-tin?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” said William.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about supper,” said Julia. “Daddy says Aunt Margery and her friend were supposed to be eating out, but I expect we’ll have to feed them. Have you got anything planned, Daddy?”
“No,” said William.
“Of course you have! Mrs. Arncott will have got something in when she heard we were coming.”
William’s smile suggested otherwise.
“There’ll be a few more than she expected. Let me see - two more, isn’t it, Hilary - or thereabouts?”
Hilary still refused to rise to the bait. It wasn’t fair to blame her for Leo’s arrival, when Julia herself had let slip the news about the gathering at Haseley.
“I’m having my supper,” said William smugly. “I didn’t invite anybody else here, and I don’t see why I should feed them. - There’s some bacon in the fridge,” he added as a dispensation to Hilary.
She had just been to the fridge for milk and seen that it was crammed with food. William also admitted, under cross-examination, that there was a turkey in the larder and plum-pudding in the cupboard. Mrs. Arncott had been to Sainsbury’s the day before.
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